


The Lion, The Witch, and Skyhold

by nonsensicatty



Series: The Lion, The Witch, and Skyhold [1]
Category: DAI - Fandom, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gore, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Violence, dark themes, suggestion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5204990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsensicatty/pseuds/nonsensicatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of works ranging (somewhat chronically) from drabble to fiction, detailing the slow burn romance between Inquisitor Trevelyan and Commander Rutherford. The record of the highs, lows, and stumbles of two perfectly adorable souls in their quest to find one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lion, The Witch, and Skyhold

_My head's held high_

_When we walk down the line, honey_

_Arm-in-arm through the clear night sky_

_Let's be at peace, we'll fly_

_Our hearts collide_

_Can't escape the magnetic side_

\- Lianne La Havas

 

The first time I’d laid eyes on him there had been there nothing at all.

The racing of my heart and laboriousness of my breathing was the result of extreme expenditure. As was the pink to his cheeks and the bite to his words. The chill of the winter winds stole away what warmth there may have been between us; the howls and screams of battle drowned out whatever hope there was for pleasant conversation; the rank of slain demons and scorched innocents demanded our attention.   

I saw him as little more than a soldier, though even in my exhaustion I noticed he was handsome – albeit slightly rude when he opened his mouth. Of course any sensible person would be with an unstoppable horde of demons bearing down and a massive hole in the Veil looming just overhead.

“I hope they’re right about you,” were his first words to me. Cold and harsh like the weather.

I wasn’t exactly agreeable either, snapping back just as fiercely as the trees in the storm. In my defense, I had just been told the world had been torn apart and I was suddenly dying.

But that was all our first encounter was: a quick glance, a few words, and he was gone. Just another body scrambling away from the tear in the sky I was expected to somehow fix. He didn’t cross my mind again after that.

When I saw him a second time – which when first we parted I didn’t think would happen due to my short life expectancy – he left a much more memorable impression. I almost hadn’t recognized him in the dim light of the war room, though by time I did he had already discovered what he’d initially missed. The distrust and malcontent blazed in his golden eyes and his stance shifted towards me threateningly. My gaze caught on the flame of the candles that glinted off his armor as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

That’s when I saw it; it was in the way he held himself. He may not have carried an engraved shield or the hum of lyrium with him, but still I knew. He was a Templar – powerful and experienced judging by the look in his eye. It was in the strain of his shoulders, the downward curve of his lips, the intensity of his glare. Even in the weight of his stance on his forward foot, giving him the ability to strike if necessary.

He was poised for a fight, answering a challenge I extend simply in my being.

I was cautious during our interactions, as gentle as possible. The other advisors didn’t seemed to notice the growing tension, but I could feel it pressing down on me. Even once the conversation turned to strategy and tactic – having nothing to do with me – his eyes never left, watching every little twitch and jerk I made under his scrutiny.

As if I would spontaneously transform into an abomination and destroy them all.

Though I didn’t deserve his ire, I couldn’t fault him for it. Nor did I seek to rile it. Instead, I watched as each harmless remark or comment I made put him more and more on edge. The very sound of my voice made him cringe in his armor. When my input was no longer needed, I receded into the shadows of the room, trying to seem less a threat. Though his gaze frequently flickered to the staff on my back or blood on my robes. Finally, when our meeting had concluded and I hurried out after Cassandra, I refused to acknowledge him again.

I was careful to avoid him after that.

I understood his concern, having dealt with Templars my whole life. Some measure of demonic superstition was expected. However, he somehow carried a hatred and fury for me being a mage unlike I’d ever seen before. From early on, I realized he had to have been through a great ordeal at the hands of mages – it could be the only explanation.

Thus whenever I passed by the temple or made to leave Haven, I first checked to ensure he was not nearby. Or at the very least, too distracted to notice me. Our gazes never met when we occasionally crossed paths. We kept our mouths shut when confined to one another’s presence in the war room. We pretended the other didn’t exist when we met placing orders in the smithy. It was a dance, strange and ungraceful. This went on for quite some time, and we both seemed content with the routine.

Until I wasn’t.

There was no inciting incident or heated argument that broke the peace treaty we’d silently brokered. I simply tired of dancing around him. Of having to rush about the camp and hurry away when I spied him in the crowd. We were both prominent figures of the Inquisition, forced together multiple times a day. My patience finally wore and I spent an entire week gathering the courage to confront him. Even still, I made sure our first conversation was public and in the light of day.

I approached him while he was at him most comfortable: training his soldiers. The conversation is a bit of a blur, though I remember the overwhelming awkwardness hanging over us like a cloud.

He’d taken a low blow somewhere amidst the formalities, catching me just slightly by surprise.  “None made quite the entrance you did.” There was a note of accusation there, rough and rugged against the huskiness of his voice. He spat it as if he needed to remind me that I was the mage he did not trust. As if I could forget.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to respond in kind; I had dreamt of unleashing my venom upon him. I’d strategized the perfect delivery method and theorized the look on his face. It was tempting indeed to jump upon the chance. Though, after a moment, I thought better of it. Rather, I let my passions settle and replied coolly, “At least I got everyone’s attention.”

“That you _did_ ,” he admitted with a chuckle.

His troops moved around us, the sound of their blades clashing almost louder than that of the blood in my ears. He was polite, as was I, but there was an unmistakable tension in the air. We navigated it carefully, keeping the talk light and easy. It wasn’t until I’d misstepped that the exchange became more than simple empty-hearted pleasantries.

He’d said something halfway kind, vulnerable almost. Mid rant, he caught himself with a gentle: “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.” It was a moment of weakness on his part – I believe there had even been a hint at a smile on his lips. I had no reason to read into it, but he was _very_ handsome and I but a mere woman.

“No, but if you have one prepared I’d _love_ to hear it.” (And I would have, his voice was almost as mesmerizing as his face). The response came without thought or pause. It was free, casual. No underlying threat or disdain. The quip caught us both off guard, leaving us to gawk at one another for some time before we finally composed ourselves.

The awkwardness quickly returned after that and dominated the rest of our short conversation. There were a few more stutters and smirks before it was over, leaving me reeling for hours to come. Thankfully duty quickly tore him away, a scout with a report, and the moment he was gone I bolted for the trees.

Still I did not know. Though now the need to avoid him now had a different reason behind it. Embarrassment. However, like before, that only lasted for so long.  

It wasn’t until our third encounter that I knew.

We’d been conversing casually, nothing important or too meaningful. The tension wasn’t there, nor the awkwardness. We were almost comfortable like; his hand rested on the hilt of his sword simply out of habit. He’d been telling me about his childhood – of his time in the chantry, to be specific – when a simple question took a turn for the worst.

“Do Templars take vows?” I asked, my curiosity genuine. For all my years in contact with them, I’d never truly befriended one or gotten to know much of The Order. “‘I swear to The Maker to watch all the mages’ – that sort of thing?”

He answered professionally, his opinion of the Templar Order obviously very high. He seemed to enjoy talking about it, imparting as much information as was socially acceptable for such a basic question.

“A life of service and sacrifice,” I mused. Never had I heard it put as such. He seemed so familiar with the service of Templars, proud even. It made me wonder why he’d left. “Are Templars also expected to give up…,” I tried to find the words, “physical temptations?”

It was like I’d lit a fuse; he exploded instantly into nervousness and apprehension. “Physical,” he gasped, the blush igniting on his cheeks, “why--?” He shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat sheepishly, “Why would you…?”

I could tell I’d blundered. Again.

He dug at his neck and itched at his clothed forearm. The guilt prickled up inside me, worsening as his antics did. When it was obvious he could not answer, I opened my mouth to save him from further embarrassment, but he blurted out, “That’s not expected.”

He hurried to spill out as much factual information as possible to fill the awkwardness that had ensued between us, rambling on about vows and chastity. As he did, his eyes frequently shifted away from mine, locking only for a moment before slipping away. “Some may choose to give up… _more_ ,” he went on, looking away pointedly as he said it, “though it’s… not required.”

I found myself being unusually cruel in that instant, watching him simmer and fidget with his gaze everywhere but mine. He’d answered graciously – humored an overly curious mind. Satisfied a woman’s request, quite gentlemanly. Though it wasn’t enough for me, I knew there was more precious vulnerability I could extract from him. It would have been a crime not to, having expended the effort to whittle him down this far.

Without consideration, I poked at the nerve I had undoubtedly found. “Have _you_?” I aimed my words like a well place arrow.  

“Me?” he sputtered, the blush growing violently as it spread to his ears. It was adorable the way the flaming red colored his naturally creamy cheeks, causing his freckles to stand out in stark contrast. He shifted and stammered and wrung his hands fretfully, obviously in great distress, but I filled with excitement.

“I… um, uh… no. I’ve taken no such vows,” he finally managed, his golden eyes flickering up to meet mine. He had been looking for mercy, compassion. I could tell. He wished the incessant questioning to cease, for me to disengage, but I met his plea with a smirk. Unashamedly.

“Maker’s Breath,” he gasped, breaking away again. “Can we speak of something else?”

I hadn’t expected his response to ruffle me so, but it did. I felt thrown off course – lost. The victory too swift.

“Of course. …Actually, I should be going.”

“Another time then,” he breathed relievedly.

As I walked away triumphantly, trying to understand the racing of my heart and laboriousness of my breathing, it finally dawned on me. I hadn’t an inkling up until this point, and the realization stopped me dead in my tracks. There amidst the snow flurries and golden rays of the evening, his eyes on my back and voice still ringing in my head, was when first I knew.

I wanted him.

**Author's Note:**

> There you go!
> 
> A little more monologue than I originally intended but I thought it worked out well. This was just the first chapter, a prologue if you will (despite its length). I tried to keep the narration as entertaining as possible, while still keeping to the overall theme of a slow burn romance. Let me know how you liked it, feedback is the only way one can grow!
> 
> This is hopefully the first of many. 
> 
> \- Nonsensicatty


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